Page 153 of Driftwood Daffodil 2

Every time I thought about it unease churned in my gut. Not because Darry might lose his mother. Sure I didn’t want to see him go through that kind of pain, but I was more worried about what would happen to my so called fiancé.

How fucked up was that?

Less than a month ago I wanted to see Nova dead. Hell I tried to do the job a couple of times myself. And now, I wanted to protect her from my piece of shit uncle.

Unfortunately, Carissa might be the only person who could help me do that. If nothing else, she was an expert at distracting men, and Aldo liked to use women. Especially if they belonged to someone else. The only question was what would Carissa want in exchange, and why did it already feel like I was cheating?

Rounding the corner, I walked towards the kitchen and stopped halfway in the room to eye the open newspaper in my father’s hands.

Sunlight cascaded through the bay window and flowed over the oak table he was seated at, as if this was some normal picturesque morning and not an abnormal occurrence.

“Good morning, Giovanni.”

Was it?

“Morning.” I muttered back while filling a mug with coffee.

Why was he here? I could count on one hand the number of times I saw my father in the morning. Not that I expected him to elaborate. That would be too easy for the great Cesare Mancini.

I went about gathering my breakfast while he didn’t so much as acknowledge my existence. There was no peeking over his pages, or muttered comments, just small sips from his mug.

When I was a kid, my mind used to scream for him to see me. A smile, single word, or nod would’ve felt like a warm hug. Over the years I learned how to take care of myself. Now, I preferred his absence. So, joining him at the table was awkward as hell.

Especially when he muttered, “How’s school?”

“Fine.”

That question I could’ve passed off as his attempt at idle chatter, if he hadn’t let out the most condescending ‘hmm,’ I’d ever heard.

It was dripping with so much judgment and sarcasm that I found myself wondering if I missed an important test or something. Not that he would say anything if I had. Honestly I was surprised that he knew I was in school at all.

When he spoke again, my suspicion rose.

“How are your friends?”

My first thought was, what the fuck did Atlee do?

“Fine.” I said trying to figure out what his game was.

And what did I get in response? The same hmm.

Did he know something or overhear something? Atlee and I were joking around about offing Aldo yesterday. Of course he could simply be trying to see if I knew something he didn’t.

“So everything is going fine?”

Did Atlee tell him about or side business?

“Yes.” It took everything I had not to narrow my eyes when my father flipped the page of his paper.

“Are you sure about that?”

Fuck, he did tell him.

“It’s just a little pocket change.”

I realized my mistake when he looked over his paper and cocked a brow.

“What’s a little pocket change?”

---